


Food Poisoning

by allislaughter



Series: Wordplay: So Love Us Till Sunset [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, Illustrations, Monsters, POV Third Person, Poetry, Present Tense, References to Lovecraft, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26754586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allislaughter/pseuds/allislaughter
Summary: Rig Miller wakes up in a pit of death and no idea where he got there. Deacon, Nick, and Echo uncover something unsettling about this lakeside town.
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Wordplay: So Love Us Till Sunset [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901830
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Food Poisoning

**Author's Note:**

> I've been waiting for October to post this fic, because Happy Halloween!
> 
> This fic contains references to things established (including a spoiler) in the [Rigged Games](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687249) series but that series is not required reading to enjoy this fic. The character Echo belongs to user glowstickia and you can read Glow's fics about Echo in her [Echoes of You](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718185) series.

It’s dark, it’s cold, it’s quiet. Three of the worst things to wake up to, especially with a spinning head and wave of nausea from who knows where. Rig Miller sits up on his knees and then curls over, hands pressed hard against his stomach as he tries to breathe and steady himself—to no avail with whatever the rancid scent in the air is. He pinches his nose and tries to look around in the dark...

No, not complete darkness. There’s light coming in from windows high above him. Barely enough to see, and a light on the ground would make it far easier.

...There appear to be dead bodies around him.

He barely holds down his vomit, but he manages not to make a mess of himself. Really, whatever this wake-up is, he can rate it in the top five worst situations he’s woken up in. Pits will forever get the top spot. This, however...

Think... How did this happen? How did he get here? He was with the others... They were visiting some place by a waterfront he never caught the name of... Mirelurk cakes... tasted off... gross and—

He needs to get out of here before he throws up for real. He staggers to his feet, trying to steady himself as he looks for a door.

But... No, this seems like something of a pit in itself... Walls too smooth to scale to the windows above... If those  _ are _ windows... But there has to be some other way to go...

His foot knocks against something, and he grimaces in hopes it’s a rock and not bone. He peers down and... yes, it’s a rock. Probably. Rig picks it up, feeling the weight in his hand.

“Wonder...” he mutters. He turns slowly about the chamber looking for a door. When he doesn’t find one, he finds the darkest spot there is, directly across from him and all the piled bodies—he  _ needs _ to stop thinking about those and why they’re there—and he pitches the rock like an amateur pitching a baseball. It’s still enough to send it flying into the dark where it clatters away, the sound fading in the distance... There’s a path there.

...Into the unknown or stay with rotting flesh on brittle bone. He chooses the one that’s potentially less disgusting and walks straight path after his friendly rock pal who is helping him attempt to escape.

Yeah, that’s how to think about it. Not that every step he takes might set up one of those traps Echo and Nick and Deacon have warned him about... Where are they, anyway? Hopefully they’re safe... Hopefully they know he’s missing and are looking for him...

He lets the dark engulf him and walks forward on sound alone... His footsteps echoing, his breathing a bit too loud, his heart beating a  _ bit _ too  _ hard. _ If there’s monsters hiding in the dark to eat him, he’ll be easy prey... Though, he supposes, if there were monsters, then they probably would have eaten the bodies he left before... Except... Maybe most of them were eaten and what was left behind was merely unwanted parts left to rot and— Ugh, he’s still close enough for everything to smell awful, and the only saving grace is the lack of light means he didn’t get a good look at rot and decay—

He supports himself on the wall and holds his stomach, retching as his imagination supplies a vision for him of what he didn’t actually see. Great. So he’s sober enough to think properly, at least.

He needs to get out of here.

He blinks as lights start to form in the distances... A tunnel lit by a string of lights on one wall while water runs like the creek along the opposite wall, disappearing down another cave in one confusing cavern... He shivers from the chill of the air, and it smells like low tide and dirty water, but at least it’s marginally better than— Nope, he’s not going to think about that this time.

He takes a breath and starts to walk along the wall lit up by half-working bulbs. Wherever he is... however he got here... he needs to keep exploring. At this point, he has no choice. He’s alone, shivering, and trying to ignore the fear rising in his chest and making his body ache from anxiety.

...There’s no telling if Deacon and the others will find him. Even if he gets out of here. He doesn’t even know what happened to them... What  _ does _ he know at this point...?

...The pit was full of dead bodies, he realizes. He stops to lean against the wall while his stomach protests that, no, he already knew that. But he was the only living thing amongst all that death...

Whoever put him there must have thought he was dead too. Or tried to kill him.

“Heck,” he groans before making himself continue on. Again. One of the top five worst situations to wake up in...

* * *

The waterfront is gorgeous in the late afternoon light, with a bonfire on the shoreline and what Nick likens to a “clambake” that Rig decides to take his word for. He had never been to one himself, even before the war. But all the same, the little settlement is having a great time with their impromptu party, cooking the things Echo, Deacon, and Nick had killed earlier before said things could cause too much damage. Mostly mirelurks, but also a few other creatures that Rig hadn’t caught the names of when he had been hiding for his own safety. Maybe they were also mirelurks, just of a different type. Things are weird in the wastelands sometimes.

But now that everything is safe again, Rig sits on the ground, writing poems in his journal before the sun sets too low. Deacon joins him on the ground and offers him a bottle, and Rig  _ almost _ accepts before realizing it’s Nuka Cola and he instead gives Deacon an offended look.

“Oh, good, you’re learning,” Deacon laughs. “Don’t eat things just because I’m giving them to you.”

“Drinking things is different,” Rig pouts. “Cola is the worst soda flavor.”

“More for me,” Deacon shrugs. He takes a swig and drapes an arm over Rig’s shoulders and then grins at him. “I would have gotten you a Sunset but, too bad, we’re fresh out.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rig sighs. “They were hard to get out here even before the war. It was actually easier in Florida, even if it was more popular out west...”

Deacon chuckles. “Right... So if you’re not helping set up the party, what are you up to?”

“Writing,” Rig says. “As usual. Lurk doesn’t rhyme with anything good, does it?”

“Murk,” Deacon offers. “Perk. Quirk. Dirk. Jerk.”

“I said anything  _ good.” _

“Work, smirk, cirque?”

“Ooh, cirque,” Rig grins. “Forgot about that one. Gonna use work, though.”

“Glad to help,” Deacon says. He looks over to where Nick and Echo are talking to some of the settlers.  _ “Speaking _ of mirelurks... Apparently this isn’t the first time this settlement’s had to deal with them. I mean, they’re on the water, so I’m not surprised.”

Rig writes down the line to his poem and then glances up. “So how do they usually handle it?”

“Oh, you know,” Deacon says. “Sacrifice children to the mirelurks in exchange for crabs and gold, and then twice a year mate with the mirelurks to produce grotesque hybrid people intent on overtaking the surface world...”

Rig stares. “...That sounds. Fake.”

“It—” Deacon laughs. “It’s a reference. Don’t worry about it.” 

“...To  _ what?!” _

“Oh, you know,” Deacon says. “Good ol’ Hippopotamus Lovecraft.”

“Oh,” Rig says. “I never read Hyper Problematic Lovecraft’s work.”

“Shadow over Innsmouth,” Deacon says. “But don’t worry about it— I promise, there are no crab-people hybrids here.”

“I’d hope not,” Rig says. “We’re going to be  _ eating _ mirelurks...” He tilts his head. “So... what’s the real reason...? Or the not creepy reason, if the real reason is creepy?”

“I like that about you,” Deacon hums. “You give me permission to lie... But no lies here. Apparently their usual guards are out sick today. It’s just luck we passed through right when they needed help... It’s weird, though... I checked out where the guards should be resting and couldn’t find ‘em...”

“Missing guards from this deck of cards,” Rig says. “A fallen house to pick up less than fifty-two. Is it illness or a runaway, to Go Fish with the mismatched hand you drew?”

“There’s always the third option,” Deacon says.

“Murder,” Rig nods.

“...I was going to say sacrifice to the mirelurk gods, but same difference.” Deacon reads over Rig’s shoulder and drinks his Nuka Cola. Once the bottle is empty, he nudges Rig. “So I’m going to try and dig up more information, maybe help around some. You’re going to stay put and keep out of trouble, right?”

“Trouble can come to me this time,” Rig says. “I’m not seeking it out.”

“Good boy.” Deacon pats Rig’s shoulder and stands up. “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rig hums. He doesn’t look up to watch Deacon leave and instead finishes the last of his poem...

He shivers, goosebumps forming in the heat, and looks up to see a man watching him from the nearby dock. Rig locks gazes with the man who stares for a moment longer before turning away.

Rig furrows his brow but flips to a clean page in his journal. He tries to think of words to pen down...

He sketches the man instead...

* * *

The night is eerie, Rig is missing, and none of them are happy about it. None of them were paying close enough attention to see where Rig had run off to, between the distraction of the party and settlers needing some help with a few things. Echo, as perceptive as she is, noticed first that Rig was missing, and even with all signs pointing to him heading back to their room for the night, they can’t seem to find him. And with the sun set, the moon rising, and darkness settling in around a settlement none of them are familiar with, it’s vital to find their missing runaway before he gets into trouble— assuming he isn’t already in trouble. 

“Too many people around to force an echo,” Echo mumbles, barely loud enough for Deacon and Nick to hear. More of a statement to herself than them.

“You didn’t get one the normal way?” Deacon asks himself.

“Too popular an area to get the right one,” Echo says to herself in turn.

“Weird,” Deacon, again, talks to himself.

“I guess we have to do this the old fashioned way,” Nick says, to the two of them and breaking the game of underbreath whispers. “Interviewing witnesses, looking for clues.”

“Wow, you must be  _ so _ out of your element,” Deacon says. “Detective work? Is that something you can handle?”

Nick gives him a look. “You want to find your boy or not?”

Echo hums and looks around the area at the people mingling in the afterparty, her sunglasses on with her own eeriness of a white glow underneath the lenses. “You don’t think he was sacrificed to mirelurk gods, do you?”

“Oh, I hope not,” Deacon groans. “I made a Shadow over Innsmouth joke at him earlier. I don’t want him thinking I’m a  _ liar _ or something.”

Echo hums. “Well, we just have to find out, don’t we...?” She tilts her head and whistles a bit, nodding towards something before she goes to flag down a random settler with Nick following.

Deacon glances the way she nodded and sees a familiar journal resting on the ground by the outer wall of their lodgings for the night. He picks it up and skims through Rig’s poems and drawings, finally getting to the one Rig wrote earlier. He can see something through the paper on the other side... Flipping the page, he sees a drawing of a man he knows he’s seen around town before... That has to be a clue in itself...

He goes to catch up with the other two to see what they’re uncovering. Trouble really had to come for Rig, didn’t it?

* * *

The river— Rig’s taken to calling it a river— feels like it goes on forever. While the path on dry land he’s taking seems straight-foward, he’s spotted many places where the river veers off through a different tunnel to who knows where else. A stray thought wanders through his mind of if there’s any half-human mirelurk hybrids sleeping in the cold water beside him... any monsters that might be following him as he heads down the path to some unknown location...

What if this is a dead end? What if there was more than one exit from that pit, and he took the one that leads to nothing and not the one that leads him to safety? He was left there for dead, but someone had to get him in there to start with, but he has no clue how  _ this _ could be the right path. It’s too long, especially with the tunnel he kicked his friendly rock friend down... He  _ has _ to be going the wrong way...

But he can’t bring himself to turn around... He can’t go back to that death pit— Not yet anyway. He’ll keep walking until he finds something of interest...

After all... He glances to the water and listens closely... The water is flowing opposite his path... It has to be coming from somewhere, and he has to follow it and see where it starts...

He runs his hand along the wall as he walks, just to keep focused, keep grounded... He stares ahead, marches forward... His fingers brush against something wooden, splinters nipping at his skin, and he stops and turns his head to see what it is...

An old sign... A directional one. One arrow pointing the way he came from, with the old word blotted out and a new word painted over it “YOURS”... One arrow pointing the way he’s going, labeled Obed Lake House...

“What’s an Obed?” Rig mumbles, but he continues on. To the lake house it is.

“...O bed, o home, o folks alone,” he mumbles. “One day I will find my way back. I’m lost, I’m cold, I’m losing gold, adding 21 to blackjack.”

Yes, that’s good. Little poems to himself occupied. What’s another one...?

“...Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he will eat when he’s lucky...”

Okay, wait... He needs to think this one over a bit... He thinks, and then he recites something...

_ Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day _ _  
_ _ Teach a man to fish and he will eat when he’s lucky _ _  
_ _ With bated breath, one baits the hook _ _  
_ _ And waits for a fish to come that’s plucky _

_ But when it comes to feeding towns _ _  
_ _ One can make a party from a mirelurk _ _  
_ _ If baited traps leads to waiting cooks _ _  
_ _ Then a meal will come to those who work... _

He furrows his brow and mutters “lurk” and “work” a few times... Didn’t he use that rhyme before...? Where did he use it before...?

* * *

_ Beauty oft goes overstated _ _  
_ _ In nature’s subtle traits created _ _  
_ _ By chance of fate of how trees grow, _ _  
_ _ Of weather, creatures, and sunlight glow. _

_ And true, nature and its many wonders _ _  
_ _ Deserve the praise, the pride, the plunders, _ _  
_ _ Like this lake, in afternoon sun, _ _  
_ _ Where water glitters and bonfires run. _

_ But subtler still is the presence of time _ _  
_ _ Where a moment passes regardless of clime, _ _  
_ _ Where the peace after a battle comes with relief in your chest _ _  
_ _ That you won’t feel again when you recall that test. _

_ The moments where you save a soul from death; _ _  
_ _ Take away a beast’s final breath, _ _  
_ _ And take away that uncertainty _ _  
_ _ Of “will this be the death of me?” _

_ The subtle storm of ease at last. _ _  
_ _ A time to celebrate the horror passed — _ _  
_ _ That the beast that sought to kill _ _  
_ _ Can now be your grateful meal. _

_ And so to celebrate the moment won _ _  
_ _ Is a beauty captured, understated by none, _ _  
_ _ For all present felt the danger that lurked _ _  
_ _ That now is relieved of that dire work. _

Rig finishes punctuating his poem and looks up as the settlers start passing out food to others, including what looks like food made in town. A little feast, an excuse to celebrate, one of the settlers brings him a plate and he takes it with a smile and a nervous thanks, and glances around to see Echo and Deacon chatting and eating their own food. That’s permission enough for him to eat his own.

He closes his journal and sets it down next to him to hold his plate in his lap and pick at the less familiar food for something that looks like something he’ll enjoy eating. Little bread things... crab cakes, maybe? Mirelurk cakes, more likely. He takes a bite of one and wrinkles his nose at the weird flavor... Not what he would expect from a crab cake, but then again this isn’t the kind of crab he grew up on and also he never ate crab cakes growing up. Maybe it’s just whatever spices are in it. He can’t waste the food regardless. That would be rude. Not when everyone worked so hard to make it.

He powers through eating the mirelurk cakes and instantly regrets it when he starts to feel nauseous. Ate too fast again— Still, another settler walks by to ask him how the food is, and he foregoes politeness to shove the plate at them, grab his journal, and wander away from the party to find a secluded place to try not to throw up.

The world starts moving beneath his feet, moving like ocean waves while he tries to stay steady in a boat cast adrift. His chest feels tight, his throat, a grip on his heart and stinging in his lungs as he loses his breath. He staggers over to their hotel for the evening, but the building doubles and sways.

He drops his journal as he falls to his knees.

He sees a shadow over him, hears words he can’t make out, feels hands slipping around him, but the world grows dark...

* * *

“So have you seen our companion?” Echo asks the settler. “This tall, flamingo shirt, weird stubble that he can’t seem to grow out?”

“The one that was sitting at the lake writing something,” the settler asks. “He left the party early but I didn’t see where he went. I was preoccupied keeping Mallory’s cat from stealing mirelurk cakes.”

“Do you know why he left the party?” Nick asks.

“I think maybe he was feeling sick?” The settler shrugs. “Weston was checking on him and he just shoved his food at him and left. Maybe had a bad reaction to whatever he was eating?”

Echo frowns. “I didn’t give him that food— Deacon.”

“Hi,” Deacon says, walking up to join the group. “What did I miss?”

“Did you give Rig food?”

“Nope,” Deacon says. “Why, did we forget to feed him again? Nick’s not going to let us keep him if we don’t remember to feed him and take him for walks.”

“You’re lucky he’s already housebroken,” Nick frowns.

Echo shakes her head. “Who gave him food?”

“Why does that matter?” the settler asks. “Is he not supposed to eat certain things?”

“He has a habit of eating things without knowing if it’s safe,” Nick says. “We’re trying to break him of that habit.”

“Wow,” the settler laughs. “So he  _ is _ your pet. But, no, it was just party food. Some of us were passing out food for everyone, so it could have been anyone giving him his plate.”

“Next question,” Deacon says. He holds up Rig’s journal to the drawing he found. “Do you recognize this man...?”

The settler squints. “It’s night.”

Deacon moves over to the nearby light and holds up the journal again.

“...Oh, huh.” The settler looks over the drawing and then up at Deacon. “Looks a bit like the mayor.”

“Oh?” Nick asks. “I don’t think we met him.”

“He’s been really quiet, lately,” the settler says. “Wary of strangers. I’m sure he’s grateful you saved us from those mirelurks, but he didn’t stick around the party to show his appreciation.”

“What can you tell us about him?” Echo asks.

“His name is Obed Lake,” the settler explains. “He’s a good mayor, treats us right, but things have been a little weird ever since this other man stopped by to bring us old books and weird statues. As in books that look like they were old even when the bombs fell and statues that look like monsters. Most of us didn’t take any, but Mayor Lake did. Ever since then, he’s been acting weirdly. Not enough to be a problem, though some folks have been leaving just because it’s too much. Some days we’ll wake up and someone will have left without a word.”

“Uh-huh,” Echo says, looking at Deacon who grins and looks like he’s trying not to yell.“He was here earlier, for the party,” the settler says. “But I think he went back home for the evening. He might still be awake if you wanted to try talking to him.”

“Where does he live?” Echo asks.

“Over the end of the lake,” the settler points the right direction. “Naturally he gets the biggest, fanciest, pre-war house for himself. But if you see the mayor, ask him if he knows where Johnny and Sal went. Those two lazy bums are supposed to be our guards, but we told you how they got sick— but Felicia went to check on them and they weren’t in bed so we think they were faking and playing hooky somewhere.”

“Thanks,” Echo says. “Let’s go, boys.”

The three of them head off, first back towards the lake, and then around the length of it towards the largest home they see in the distance...

“So,” Deacon says. “What are we thinking? Shadow over Innsmouth, crab cult style?”

“You fucking jinxed it, you asshole,” Echo groans.

Deacon groans. “Of course I did— Why can’t I jinx something to make something  _ good _ happen, like finding a million caps or meeting someone famous or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how jinxes work,” Nick says.

“Right...” Deacon frowns. “But do you think Rig’s alright?”

“We’ll find him,” Nick assures.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Deacon whines. He shakes his head. “I  _ really _ thought he’d stay out of trouble this time. I guess I can’t underestimate how badly trouble wants to find him, can I? What am I going to do with him? Maybe a collar and a leash?”

“Kinky,” Echo says. “But I don’t think he’d be into it.”

“Oh,  _ god,” _ Nick groans.

Deacon grins nervously. “Well. I guess bondage is out then, huh?”

_ “GOD,” _ Nick groans again. “Why are you like this? Why are you  _ both _ like this?”

“Genetics,” Deacon chimes.

“Deacon,” Echo says. “You’re adopted.”

Deacon gasps. “You kept it a secret from me this entire time?!”

Echo smirks. “I was waiting for the right moment to tell you.”

“So you chose now?” Deacon fake sniffles. “When my boyfriend is being sacrificed to mirelurks? I see how it is.”

“Focus,” Nick says. “We need to find Rig and get out of here. I thought something seemed fishy about this town...”

Echo snorts and nudges Nick. “You nerd. Alright, let’s see what Mayor Lake did with our boy.”

* * *

The lights end at a pool of water, with a waterfall, or perhaps a pipe spewing water, on the side as the source of the would-be river he walked beside this entire time. Rig furrows his brow, looking in the dark for any sort of other stairway up to that lake house the sign mentioned... There’s potentially one across the pool of water, but Rig knows water safety well enough not to trust that this water is shallow enough to wade through or safe enough to swim across.

He sighs and rests his hand on the wall again— or tries to, falling into an open hole with his hand landing on something sharp. He yelps and yanks his hand away, the yell reverberating around the chamber. He checks his hand for blood— nothing leaking, just a scratch, and he squints in the darkness and gingerly reaches for whatever he touched again to try and make out the shape.

Something made of carved stone, smoothed but with sharp points on the edges like teeth or crab legs. If this is an idol for Deacon’s crab cult—

He blinks. Wait— Deacon mentioned something about a crab cult. That’s right, he remembers now... Something about... sacrificing humans to mirelurks... 

A pit of bodies at the end of the river. Rotting, decaying meat for crabs to scavenge from, like dead fish in a crab trap... But do crabs like rotting meat...? Or do they prefer fresh...?

His hands on the idol, his back to the water, he freezes at the sound of splashing. Of something rising out of the depths echoing in his head like a thought more than a sound in reality. But the air is colder than before, he shudders and grips the idol tight as if begging for safety from whatever is sneaking up behind him...

_ The fog rolls in while a man stands at the edge of a dock, book in hand and an offering on his lips. Something rises from the water to meet him, to take the offering and give him what he wants in return... _

Rig’s ripped from the idol and pulled backward into the water. He struggles against whatever has him, spying only a glow— several glows like eyes watching him in the darkness of the underwater. He’s helpless to the creature— creatures? —dragging him deeper to the middle of the pool, his head growing light and lungs hurting from the lack of air.

* * *

The house is large and patchwork from repairs made with scrap over the years, with a dock opposite it stretching into the lake and an old man sitting on the porch watching them approach. He stands, and in the available light they can see how much he looks like Rig’s drawing, an oddly accurate depiction when Rig presumably didn’t see too much of this man before disappearing...

“You must be Mayor Lake,” Nick takes the lead, and the mayor nods at them, standing silent in wait of what they want to ask. “We’re looking for our missing companion, Rig. The one in that flamingo shirt we brought with us before helping with the fight against those mirelurks.”

“Haven’t seen him,” the mayor says.

Nick frowns. “But certainly you’d have some idea where he might have gone. Any places around here he might be hiding?”

“Haven’t seen him,” the mayor says.

“Perhaps we can talk inside,” Deacon says. “I heard something about a really neat statue you picked up? Something about a book?”

The mayor glares. “Go away.”

Deacon holds his hands up in defense. “Hey now, the three of us might have a bit of experience with this kind of thing.” He motions to Echo. “Her especially...”

Echo holds up a particularly intimidating knife. “We’re friends,” she says, making sure the mayor keeps his eyes on the knife as she hides it away again. “Now please. Let’s talk. We noticed the guards who should have protected against those mirelurks have gone missing as well...”

The mayor narrows his eyes. He steps inside the house, but leaves the door open, a silent invitation to follow. Nick leads the way in, cautious and ready to draw a gun at a moment’s notice...

The interior of the house is quaint, clean, and looks like any non-cultist’s home with innocuous trinkets, old art that does not look cursed, and a particularly homey feel to it. They follow the mayor into the kitchen, where he starts to make tea for them.

Deacon takes a seat at the table, lounging as if he’s not in a potential murder cultist’s home. “So! I bet the others it’s a crab cult.” He grins when Nick sends him the most annoyed look he can. “Are you sacrificing people to crab demons or what?”

The mayor mumbles something too quiet for even Nick to hear.

Deacon nods. “A man of secrets! I figured that might be the case. So, where exactly do you take the folks to sacrifice them? Just for reference.”

“Deacon,” Nick groans.

“Fiddler hotel,” the mayor says. “Basement has a secret door that leads to where I put the bodies.”

“...That’s where we’re staying,” Nick points out.

“We’ve been making entrances all around the settlement,” the mayor says. “Most aren’t open yet. But that one is, and another.”

“And that’s where you took our friend,” Deacon says. “To some kind of death pit?”

“They will feast when the time is right,” the mayor says. He turns around and sets a cup of tea out for Deacon.

“No thanks,” Deacon says. “I’m trying to cut back.”

The mayor frowns, but Nick clears his throat.

“So,” Nick says. “What are you, uh... feeding and why?”

“Ancestors to today’s mirelurks,” the mayor answers. “They promised long life and riches and prosperity for the town.”

“Riiight,” Deacon says. “That old adage... Gotta kill a few chickens to count more eggs.”

Nick narrows his eyes. “You’re being... a bit forthcoming with your plan for someone who clearly doesn’t trust us...”

The mayor tilts his head. “They know you’re here. You won’t get out alive, so it doesn’t matter what I tell you.”

There’s a  _ thud _ from somewhere in the house. Deacon jumps to his feet while Nick looks behind him.

_ “Shit!” _ Nick curses. “Where did Echo go?”

“Go find her!” Deacon orders, and Nick runs out of the kitchen deeper into the house. He turns to the mayor and scowls. “How did you get Rig?”

“Drugs in his food,” the mayor says. “Once he passed out, I could take him underground without issue. He is bound to have been eaten by now.”

Deacon groans. “Well, that  _ is _ how he wanted to go out. Killed by mirelurks...” He hears another  _ thud _ and takes off after Nick.

He tries to follow the sound of the  _ thuds. _ He passes by a room, and then doubles back to see Nick with his gun drawn while Echo tries to pick the lock of a door. “Hey— Should we really be letting out whatever’s down there? If Echo’s in a trance, snap her out of it.”

“I’m fine, Deeks,” Echo says. “Not in a trance.”

“Right, sure,” Deacon says. “But I don’t think we should open the door for whatever crab monsters are down there—”

“Shut up and trust me,” Echo orders. “We need to get down there— I don’t know why but I know we need to get down there.”

“Sorry,” Nick says.  _ “Down?” _

Echo chews her lower lip. “Yeah,” she says.  _ “Down.” _ She gets the door unlocked and then stands again to open it. “So Mayor Lake’s feeding settlers to these guys, huh?” she asks.

“And supposedly they’ll kill us now,” Deacon says. “And if they don’t, I’m sure Lake will.”

Echo scowls. She opens the door to reveal a set of stairs and starts her way down. Nick shares a serious look with Deacon expression of fearful discomfort, and the two of them follow her down.

At the bottom of the stairs is a pool of water being fed by a source above ground and feeding into a river, lit only by lights across the water. The light from the open door above them reflects off a strange, almost crab-like statue resting in a crevice in the wall opposite them.

On the ground before them is a man, soaking wet and with bite marks over his body, wearing a flamingo shirt. Unconscious and still bleeding from fresh wounds, with the blood flowing into water full floating, unmoving humanoid crustaceans.

“...Not the horror show I was expecting,” Deacon admits. “But not one I wanted to see either.”

_ “What happened?” _ Nick demands. “Are they  _ dead?” _

“...Oh, shit,” Echo says. “You two remember how Rig’s blood ain’t human...?”

Deacon grimaces. “Eurgh, so, what, they tried to eat him, and poisoned themselves instead...?”

“But is that all of them?” Nick asks. He walks over to Rig and kneels down next to him. “Still breathing, at least,” Nick says. “Deacon, you want to carry him? The wounds look like they’re mostly healed now, so he won’t keep bleeding for long at least.”

Deacon heads over and scoops Rig up into his arms. “Alright, trouble-maker,” he whispers. “Let’s get you out of here.” He looks up. “Hey, you two want to, uh... take care of  _ Lake _ before he realizes we  _ aren’t _ being killed slash eaten?”

Echo pulls out a gun and heads back up the stairs. “On it.”

* * *

Sunlight hits his closed eyes, and Rig wrinkles his nose and flips over to get away from the light and sleep more. “Noooo,” he mumbles, blindly grabbing for the blankets someone so rudely pulled off of him.

“Rise and shine, Firebird,” Deacon chuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“Nn?” Rig blinks his eyes open to Deacon’s face. He sits up and rubs his eyes. “Nng... Had a... weird dream...”

“Do tell,” Deacon grins, propping his chin in his palms in interest. “Were there mirelurks in it at all?”

Rig yawns. “No— Dreamt I was in school but there was a loft that I was sitting in with some of the other students while a repair crew was floating around fixing the stairs...”

“...Wow.”

“Oh, also you hugging me and telling me jokes, and it made me feel very safe and warm.”

_ “...Awww, _ you’re going to make me cry and ruin my tough guy persona!”

Rig blinks up at him. “You’re not a tough guy? You’re very soft?”

Deacon laughs. “Right— Hey, you remember anything that happened yesterday or...?”

Rig scratches at his neck. “Um... There was a party, I think... Ate some bad food...”

“You got food poisoning,” Deacon shrugs. “Happens to the best of us. You’ve been passed out since then.”

“Oh,” Rig hums. “Okay. I feel better, then...”

“Good to hear,” Deacon grins. “C’mon. We need to meet the others for breakfast and then get out of here. Wouldn’t want to have to pay an extra night at this hotel.”

“Sure,” Rig says. He climbs out of bed and goes to pull on his clothes. He stops and stares at his pants and the new patches on it that he doesn’t remember. “What happened here...?”

“You had some trips getting back to the hotel,” Deacon says. “You know how food poisoning is.”

“Uh...” Rig frowns and pulls on his pants. “Apparently I don’t...”

“Well, this  _ is _ the first time you got wasteland food poisoning, so...” Deacon shrugs. “At least you didn’t damage your flamingo shirt.  _ Did _ get it stained a bit, but we got out most of them. We’ll get the rest later.”

“Yeah...” Rig frowns and pulls on his shirts. “Um... If you’re lying to me, uh... It must be bad then... But if you’re not lying to me, then... wow, I don’t want food poisoning again.”

“No one ever does,” Deacon nods. “But if your stomach’s settled enough, we’ll get some sugar bombs in you and call it a morning.”

“So, um...” Rig latches onto Deacon’s arm and lets him lead him out of the room. “If— If’s bad enough you aren’t even admitting you’re lying, I don’t want to know, but... Did any of you three get hurt?”

“...You know? No, surprisingly we didn’t.”

Rig grimaces. “Aw, so it  _ was _ bad...”

Deacon sighs. “Yeah, sorry to say. We don’t even know the full details, but from what we figure out, it, uh.... None of us want to bring it up for our own sanity as well.”

Rig nods. “Okay. Hate that I don’t remember it, but it’s probably for the best.”

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

They end up in the dining area of the hotel where a few other tables are full of gossiping settlers having breakfast, and with Echo and Nick in their own corner with food already waiting and Echo already eating.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Echo greets over her breakfast. “You feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Food poisoning, right?”

Nick sends Deacon a look, but Deacon shrugs and Nick rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Food poisoning.”

“What’s for breakfast?” Deacon asks, taking a seat. “Mirelurk egg omelets?” He snorts and laughs when Nick and Echo both give him a look. “Relax, I’m kidding.”

Rig squints and sits in the remaining chair. “...Deacon, do you have my journal...?”

“Oh, yeah, here.” Deacon slips the journal out of his pocket and hands it back to Rig.

“Thanks...” He starts to flip through the pages until he finds the most recent thing... A poem he hardly remembers writing, and a page torn out immediately after... “...Okay,” he decides, and he puts away the journal. “Just tell me if it might be important to keep us safe later.”

Nick and Echo share a look, but Deacon immediately goes into a “patented distraction” telling a story that captures Rig’s attention. Breakfast is a quiet affair outside of that, and soon the four of them are paying off their tab, with breakfast “on the house” as “thanks” for something that the other three shush before the innkeeper can say what it is.

And then they’re out, back to traveling now that their pit stop is done.

...Pit, huh? Rig furrows his brow. Pit— Something about a pit... Maybe...?

“You okay, Echo?” Nick asks, and Rig snaps from his thoughts to look at Echo. “You keep adjusting your bag.”

“Yeah, it just...” She takes off her bag. “Feels heavier than I remember...” She opens it up and searches through it. “...Oh, huh.”

“What’s up?” Deacon asks.

“Mm, nothing...” She slings her bag back over her shoulders. “I just... seem to have picked up a new  _ book, _ that’s all.”

Rig opens his mouth to say something, but stops at Deacon and Nick’s groans.

...That’s weird...

...But Rig’s not going to question it.


End file.
